


FREDAG 20:18

by bettertoflee



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: F/M, Noorhelm - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 12:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10386948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettertoflee/pseuds/bettertoflee
Summary: Short Noorhelm one-shot.





	

The soft sound of indiscernible music carries its way through the kitchen, melding in perfect harmony to the light hum of the dishwasher. Noora is standing at the counter with her back to the rest of the kitchen chopping peppers, lost in thought. She's swaying back and forth, letting her hips mindlessly move with the music, and William is having a terrible time looking at anything but her.

He's supposed to be setting the table, just for the two of them, but he hardly even has one full place setting ready. Every time he turns around to get the forks or the plates, he gets distracted.

After a little while, she notices that he's grown quite. She turns to look over her shoulder and her eyebrows pinch together in curiosity. She looks at him and waits for him to say something. When he doesn't, she gives him a small, questioning smile.

"Hey you," she says.

"Hey," he says, his voice sleepy. He licks his lips and pushes a hand through his bangs, trying to act relaxed.

The movement of his hand directs her attention to the table and she sees that he's still not finished. He's been at it for the past ten minutes, maybe longer.

She pretends to be put out that he still isn't done laying their place settings, though in reality, there's no real rush. "Come on," she urges, pointing her knife at the work that hasn't been done. "The food is going to be done before we have plates to eat off of."

He nods and gives her a satisfied smirk – the kind that sends chills down her spine and makes her forget everything she stands for – the kind that reminds her she's gotten herself into trouble – the kind that convinces her she made the right decision in believing that he was anything but a misogynistic asshole.

She turns around, but he doesn't go back to the table. Instead, he goes back to watching the way her shoulders move as she slices through the colorful vegetables. He memorizes the way her hair falls on her neck, just above the collar of her shirt and the way she doesn't have to think twice about what she's doing in the kitchen.

She'd force him to take over if he said that out loud – try to prove that there's nothing inherent about cooking, and that a man can do it just as easily as a woman. It doesn't matter though, because he knows it's got nothing to do with her being a woman. It's all to do with her being Noora, and that's why he loves her.

He moves forward so that she'll think he's getting back to the task at hand, but instead of moving toward the cabinet to get the plates, he moves toward her.

She's started moving her hips again, the same gentle sway as before, but this time he's close enough to smell her and it's almost too much to bear. He takes both his arms and lets them rest along the counter on either side of her. Noora startles a moment, nearly dropping the knife and nearly turning into him at the same time. It could have been detrimental, but it's not. William has her pinned perfectly in place. His hips are pressing against her from behind, keeping her there.

He moves a hand up to her neck and pulls back the curtain of platinum blonde hair until he can see the small freckle at her nape.

"Willhelm," she warns. "What are you doing?"

Rather than respond, he leans forward, keeping one arm at her side and the other on her hair, and presses his lips to the small freckle. Goose bumps rise up along her arm and a chill shoots down her spine at the light touch.

"Willhelm," she says, dragging the name out as she tries her hardest to sound convincing. "It's already so late. If we don't hurry up, we'll have to eat it for breakfast. Aren't you hungry?"

"Yes," he mumbles into her skin. The movement of his lips is enough to make her drop her knife next to the forgotten peppers. She braces her self against the counter, her hands inches from his – so close she can feel the warmth radiating off of them. She leans her head back into his so that his mouth is redirected to the front of her neck. She's still pressed against the counter, but her back is starting to arch backward, pushing against him with equal force.

She's looking at him hard, her eyes somehow screaming, "don't you dare" and, "kiss me," with equal force.

He kisses his way up her neck, trailing a line behind her ear then over her jaw, and when he leans in, keeping her eyes locked with his, he lets his lips hover just over hers, dragging the moment out.

She runs her tongue over her red lips in silent anticipation. Her eyes close, and just as their mouths are about to meet for blissful reprieve she hears him chewing. She opens her eyes to see him stoically staring down at her as he east a bit of yellow pepper.

"Don't call me Willhelm," he mumbles, and then leans away. The absence of his body leaves hers burning. Her mouth slowly falls open in disbelief.

She's left stunned at the counter, watching him turn his back on her as he triumphantly returns to the cabinet, taking out two plates and carrying them to the table.

"Come on," he says when he turns around and sees her still staring after him in disbelief, "finish up, I'm starving." He waves his hand in the direction of the stove, mock confusion written across his face. "It's already so late. If we don't hurry up we'll have to eat it for breakfast."

If it's at all possible, her mouth drops even further, though somehow the corners still manage to turn up. Her eyes are laughing, even if her expression begs to differ.

"Okay," she says in defeat, turning around. She raises one hand so that it's beside her head and waves him off. "See if your joke is funny later tonight."

She moves the chopped peppers to a pan on the stove and adds a drip of oil, giving them the occasional stir while they sizzle. William finishes up with the table behind her and when he's done, he comes over to stand beside her, this time leaning harmlessly beside her. He watches as she moves around him effortlessly, managing all the pots and pans that are boiling or sizzling before them. For a brief moment, she closes her eyes in thought.

"What am I forgetting," she mumbles, willing the thought to make itself known.

William is beside himself with how beautiful she looks when she's deep in thought. Absently, still mostly watching her face as she struggles to come up with whatever it is she's forgotten, he reaches a hand out to pick up one of the peppers.

"Ah," she says, her eyes snapping open. "It's the rolls." She gives him a smile and lifts her shoulders. "I forgot to start them. Oh well," she adds. She looks at him just a moment more before it dawns on her. He's chewing again.

"No," she says, shooing him away. "Really? Every time I close my eyes?"


End file.
